


Let the Sunlight Wash Us Clean

by deamsgirl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8027605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deamsgirl/pseuds/deamsgirl
Summary: Merlin is sore the morning after, so Arthur takes care of him.





	Let the Sunlight Wash Us Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kinkme_merlin prompt: "The morning after. Basically, Arthur cares for Merlin the day after they've had rough/marathon sex; thinking here of the stories where Merlin "won't be able to sit up" or similar. Looking for a loving prince who cares as much for Merlin as he does for the kinky things Merlin will do for him, and shows it by being gentle and affectionate in the morning. Don't mind if it's canon compliant or modern AU."

Arthur's limbs feel uncharacteristically heavy when he first emerges into wakefulness. The sun is creating a glow behind his closed eyelids and the weight of someone warm and skinny is snuggled into his side, head pillowed on Arthur's chest. Arthur finds himself smiling as he cards his fingers through short, dark hair before his stomach protests against his late breakfast and he nudges Merlin's shoulder. “Merlin, get up,” he mumbles, so sleep-lax that the words bleed into each other until it's nearly impossible to tell where one ends and another begins. “I need breakfast. Get up.”

Merlin makes a small noise of protest, muffled by Arthur's clavicle. Otherwise, he doesn't move.

Arthur huffs in annoyance and finally cracks one eye open to glare at the top of his manservant's head. “Merlin, hurry up! I'm hungry.”

Merlin mutters something that sounds suspiciously similar to the word, “prat.” Arthur magnanimously chooses to ignore it.

“Off you go then,” Arthur says, stretching his body and wincing when his stiff muscles protest the movement. Arthur's cock is actually _sore_ where it lays flaccid between his legs, and if that is not enough proof that Arthur fully exhausted himself last night, the fact that he woke without his usual morning erection definitely is.

Merlin sighs and moves to sit up, but he doesn't make it far before he lets out a cry and flops back down onto the bed, a grimace twisting his lips. “ _Ow,_ ” he says.

“Merlin?” And Arthur feels like the world's biggest idiot, because of course Merlin would be in pain. Last night had been the feast of Imbolc and both he and Merlin had left early, blood humming with the buzz of good wine, and when they got back to Arthur's chambers, they had immediately fallen into bed. They had fucked until they were sweaty and quivering, and then they had fucked some more. By time they both collapsed into sleep, Merlin's hole was puffy and red, weeping a steady stream of Arthur's come as his insides clenched and unclenched, gaping wide from where Arthur's cock had just been.

Arthur moans slightly at the thought, his dick giving a twitch but not managing much more, and he props himself up on an elbow to look at Merlin's face. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says. “Yeah, 'm a bit sore. Just... give me a minute.” He tries to move again and winces. Arthur rolls his eyes fondly and puts a hand on Merlin's chest to pin him to the bed.

“You're not going anywhere,” Arthur says decisively.

“But my chores,” Merlin protests.

Arthur huffs out an exasperated laugh and leans in to place a chaste kiss on Merlin's lips. “Funny how you're only concerned with your chores when I tell you not to be,” he says. He gets out of bed, sunlight pouring through the windows to fall across his naked skin, and mumbles something about, “impertinent idiots” as he pulls on a pair of breeches.

 

Arthur flags down a chambermaid to fetch him a double helping of breakfast and meets her at the door when she knocks, takes the tray from her, and all but slams the door in her face, effectively blocking her from seeing Merlin tangled up in the sheets of Arthur's bed. “I should go,” Merlin says as soon as the door snicks closed. He waves a hand around to encompass Arthur's truly filthy bed—come-soaked sheets, pillows askew everywhere, and a scent of sex permeating the air—and grins sheepishly. “What if someone sees me? I'm pretty sure Uther won't take kindly to a servant despoiling the crowned prince.”

“No one will see you.” To punctuate this, Arthur slides the lock into place before carrying the two plates over to the bed. “Also, if I remember correctly, I was the one doing the despoiling.” Merlin sticks out his tongue and Arthur laughs, his eyes crinkling around the corners.

Arthur sets the plates on the bedspread, carefully out of the way, and spends the next five minutes propping Merlin up with extra pillows and fussing with them. “Arthur, I'm not an invalid,” Merlin says after Arthur arranges the pillow behind Merlin's head for the sixth time. “Stop being such a mother hen.”

Arthur situates the pillow one last time just to show he _can_ before he sits on the edge of the bed and grabs one of the plates. It's brimming with an assortment of meats and cheeses, and a chunk of bread sits off to one side of the plate—a fresh, soft white bread rather than the crusty wheat Merlin is used to. Arthur breaks off a piece of it and holds it to Merlin's lips with an indulgent look in his eyes.

Merlin appears completely nonplussed. “Arthur, you cannot be serious,” he says. “I think I can manage to feed myself, thank you.”

“Yes, well, I've seen the way you eat.” Arthur uses his free hand to wave dismissively. “Perhaps I just don't want crumbs all over my sheets.”

“I'm sure,” Merlin says with no small amount of bemusement. Arthur is still holding the bread expectantly, so Merlin gives Arthur a put-upon sigh and opens his mouth enough to let Arthur slide the food past his lips. Arthur often orders extra food during his breakfast and lunch in a subtle way to foist it off on Merlin under the pretense of “not being wasteful” (though Merlin has never witnessed Arthur showing even the slightest bit of moderation in any situation) but it's a different treat altogether to have a whole plate of fine food for oneself. “'S good,” Merlin mumbles around a piece of cheese.

Arthur hums in agreement, eating bits off his own plate in between feeding Merlin. There is a sort of lazy comfort to the whole thing, with the warm sun beating along their skin as they share breakfast in bed, their energies already depleted by a night of indulgent sex. It's moments like this when they could be anyone—affectionate lovers enjoying a lie-in rather than prince and manservant, just two people devoid of responsibility for the time being. Arthur aches for these rare privileges.

“Don't you have training with the knights this morning?” Merlin asks when both plates have been cleared. The sheets are pooled around his waist, displaying the collage of lovebites Arthur marked him with last night, and a single hipbone is peeking out, a dark bruise coloring it where Arthur's thumb had pressed into the skin, desperate and unforgiving.

Arthur gets half-hard just looking at it. He clears his throat. “I told the maid to inform the knights that I would be canceling training this morning.”

“Arthur!” Merlin protests. “You can't! I've already told you I'm fine. Why are you—“

“Because I want to take care of you,” Arthur says with a roll of his eyes. There is an openness to his face that Merlin doesn't get to witness very often, and it makes warmth spread through his stomach to think that Arthur—proud, arrogant, prattish Arthur—is willing to let his guard down, if only for a single, lazy morning.

“Arthur...”

“Hush,” Arthur says, and uses his fingertips to brush the hair off Merlin's forehead. Merlin feels raw and torn open at the intimacy of it and he reaches up to snag Arthur's hand, laces their fingers together.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispers. He kisses each of Arthur's knuckles and is awarded with a smile. Merlin smiles back. “I could get used to this. If I had known that I could get out of my chores by letting you fuck me until I couldn't walk, I'd have done it ages ago.”

Arthur laughs outright at that. “You are a brat,” Arthur tells him as he slides under the blankets next to Merlin.

“But I'm your brat.” Merlin squirms a bit as he tries to get comfortable, wincing each time he accidentally jostles his sore backside, and ends up with his head tucked in Arthur's shoulder and an arm slung across Arthur's chest.

“Yes, you are.” Arthur rubs a hand up and down Merlin's back. “Now go to sleep before my generosity runs out.”

Merlin snorts, then does.


End file.
